


Family Remains

by scorpiod



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/pseuds/scorpiod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She deserves better</i>, Derek thinks as he buries his sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Remains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Piper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piper/gifts).



He finds her by scent—

( _it's always scent he notices first; Derek can't see anyone coming a mile away but he can smell them_ )

—sharp and clear and easy to track, the earth and lemon and fresh pine he associates with her, and something more beneath it, something he could never put a name to, but can still inhale in deep and know instinctively ( _alpha pack sister_ ); his sister's scent is as recognizable and natural to him as breathing.

It’s not the same now, mixed in the putrid scent of death and blood, and he knows ( _he already knew, from the moment she said she was going back to Beacon Hills and his stomach went cold; it was just a matter of how and when_ ), before he even sees her. He can smell the beginning stages of rot and decay and he _knows_.

(he wanted to tell her _no, don't go, just stay here, don't go back to that place where all their family died_ , but he didn't; he kept his mouth shut beyond a token protest while his guts twisted and clenched. He never wanted to go back, but Laura had been itching to return for a while, for _closure_ , and the investigation just gave her a reason; she never quite could comfortably settle into their passable home in Brooklyn)

( _neither could he_ )

He finds his sister on the forest floor, torn apart (torn in half, only her torso left, as if they wanted to make sure he'd recognize her, but there's no need; he'd know her no matter what) and left for whichever animal may stumble upon her ( _for him_ ). Her eyes are still open, frozen in surprise and he wonders if she saw it coming, if she fought back (it doesn't matter, dead is dead).

For a moment, he doesn't feel any grief. He's mourned too many people for that and grief just doesn't come, get stuck halfway in his body. Instead, there's just a vast emptiness in his chest, if emptiness can be a feeling, gnawing at his insides until there's nothing in him, nothing left.

 _It's just him now_ , he thinks, the thought settling into his bones with a strange sort of clarity. There's no more pack. Everyone he's ever known is gone.

It's not a new revelation, just a hollow one.

( _maybe he didn't hold on to her hard enough_ )

She deserves better, he thinks. Deserves better than to die like this, deserves better than to be left as bait and he's not thinking when he bends down and picks her up. He handles her carefully, clutching her close to his chest like he's trying to hide her away. He doesn't think about how light she is, lighter than she should be, light enough so he doesn't feel like he's holding a person, much less his sister.

Derek doesn't know what he's going to do but he starts running when he smells humans— _hunters_ —approaching, sees the flashes of light in the distance (he doesn't think he can look at her, so he doesn't, just runs as fast as he can without dropping her).

He's out of breath when he finally stops; he's not sure why, he's ran longer and harder before, but his chest is tight and his lungs burn. Derek lays Laura down next to the old house that used to be a home, before his knees give out and he collapses on the ground on all fours. His eyes are shut and face pressed against the forest floor, breathing in the dirt.

He hasn't been here in so long, but he still knows the way without thinking, on instinct, and of course he does—it seems fitting to take Laura here, to the place where they played in the yard as children and ran through the woods as young wolves. It’s the safest place he knows.

( _it takes him a moment to recognize how wrong that statement is; it'll never be safe again_ )

"I think we're alone now," he says, panting roughly. He half-expects an answer, but it’s quiet, with just the sound of his own breathing and the distant noises of the forest to keep him company.

He doesn't want to, but he forces himself to turn his head. Laura is still, unmoving, but her eyes are open and he can't see ( _isn't looking_ ) past her shoulders. If he looks into his sister's eyes and nothing more, it's almost like she's still alive--

She's not.

 _I need to bury her_ , he decides then. He can't let her stay like this, decomposing out in the open, undignified ( _she deserves better_ ). Can't let the cops find her and poke and prod her at the morgue. They have no right ( _they bury their own, that's how it works; cops have no place in pack business_ ) and it's bad enough they have the other half of her body. He wants to hide her from them all, keep her safe next to the family home ( _family grave_ ).

It's not a rational thought (it's already too late to keep her safe), driven by instinct and grief, but it makes sense to him; he clenches his jaw until his teeth hurt and starts to claw at the dirt with his bare hands, still on his knees. He goes slowly at first, tilling the dirt out and over, then steadily growing rougher until he's tearing into it with furious gestures and single-minded focus, eventually each moment too frenzied and wild to barely displace any of it.

Derek digs until his hands are bloody from cuts and his nails torn and red, until his body aches and his muscles throb, sweating from exertion and breathing heavily. There's dirt far under his nails and pressed in the creases of his palms, mingling with his blood. He digs until there's a hole large enough for his sister and by sheer force of will manages to force himself to hold still ( _even though all his nerves feel like they're going to vibrate apart_ ), to calm his movements enough to gently lower her into it.

He stands up, shaking as he does so, and stares down at Laura—Laura's _corpse_ —her dead eyes looking up at him and he wants to cover her up and never stop looking at her all at once, to look away and yet never turn his back. His eyes begin to sting and the wind's been knocked out of him, just like that.

There's a sob stuck in his throat that hasn't quite made it past his mouth yet, choking him. He tries to bite it down, to stop it from overwhelming him and what comes out is a snarl instead, low and vicious, until he just lets it out in full force, roaring and screaming and howling out his rage and grief. He takes a swing at a tree and imagines it’s the hunter that did this to her, but his fingers are claws now and he tears a chunk of the bark off instead and then he can't stop moving. He turns around and kicks a hole in the dry wall of the house, punches another one in a glass window and cuts his knuckles open, anything to keep his body moving and _he can't stop_.

Derek thinks he could tear apart the remains of the house, take what’s left of it and bring it down on them to bury them both. He wishes he had something alive and breathing to tear apart.

But it doesn’t take long for him to run out of energy and when he does, Derek hunches over a wall, growling softly before falling on the floor. The claws and fangs and fur recedes and he feels like a drained out shell, huffing out a tired breath.

That hasn't happened to him in years; he's out-grown losing control and shifting without his own consent, left those days behind in his adolescence, but he’s not ashamed of it; Derek doesn’t think can bring himself to feel anything about it, except a bone deep weariness.

He turns his head and can't see his sister anymore, just an open hole. He needs to finish the grave and goes to find a shovel. There's still one in the shed out back. The fire barely touched this area and everything is still mostly intact (this place wasn't the target); he and Laura didn't come back to this place at all afterwards, not even to clear out old possessions.

He finds a rope and an old, moth-eaten blanket as well, and drapes it over her before he silently fills up the hole. He's calmer now, operating almost mechanically, falling into a fixed rhythm and pattern. The sun is starting to peak out over the horizon when he finishes packing in the earth, not quite light out yet, but morning is coming and he sets aside the rope for later.

Laura deserves better than a shoddily dug grave but it's all he can give her and he turns around to walk into the dried out husk of what was once their home (there's nowhere else for him to go and he can’t leave. Not now. Not ever, maybe).

He goes up the stairs ( _the steps creak loudly as he walks, and one splinters beneath him; this place is unstable, its going to fall apart soon_ ) and through the old halls. The wood is burnt black, pieces of the floorboard are missing and most of the roof is gone—it’s not home anymore, but that doesn't stop the sucker punch of memories—of Laura practicing cartwheels in the yard (before smiles became hard for her), his mom running a hand through his hair as he hid behind her leg, Uncle Peter laughing out loud at something Dad said.

 _Packless_ , he thinks. That’s what he is now.

Derek can’t bring himself to go into his old room, or Laura’s, or his parents’ so he winds up in what used to be a guest bedroom, and curls up on the floor to sleep. It’s not comfortable, but nothing in this house is and he wouldn’t rest easy no matter what.

It’s Laura’s scent that lingers, stuck in the back of his throat. The smell of his sister merges with the dust and old smoke, settling underneath the scent of charred flesh that still clings to the old wood.

(if he thinks for too long, he can still feel the heat of the flames, and Laura's hand twining around his and squeezing for mutual reassurance as their lives burned around them)

 _Welcome home_.


End file.
